THE CULTIVATION OF A FEW VICES AND THE CONSEQUENCES.
When I found that I couldn't possibly do nothing--I do not mean this in
the ungrammatical sense in which it is so often used--I thought I would be
obliged to take up some new calling or diversion. Time hung heavily on my
hands and I thought too much about myself, as usual. A mental healer had
told me that I was too imaginative and thought of too many different
things. He said: "A part of the time try to think of absolutely nothing;
think of yourself." I did not know whether he meant this literally or as a
bit of sarcasm. Anyway, I realized that it was best for me to keep the ego
in subjection so far as possible. But to what new things could I now turn
in order to divert my mind from myself and my ailments?
I had always led a life very exemplary and free from even the petty vices
usually indulged in by the best of men. I had never engaged in the little
pleasantries and frivolities that might be of questioned propriety. I
would often remark that I had never had a cigar between my teeth, never
had uttered a cuss word, never kissed a girl, and so on. For this my
friends would sometimes twit me and say: "Old boy, you don't know what
you've missed!" Another quotation rung in my ears was: "Be good and you'll
be happy, but you'll miss a lot of fun!" So I thought I would pursue a
different course for a while. It was an awful thing to do, but I was set
upon putting it to the test: I would cultivate a few delicate vices.
One day, when a very good friend was visiting me, I thought I would begin
on my course of depravity. The first lesson would be in swearing. When an
opportunity presented itself, I uttered a word that I thought was strong
enough for an amateur to begin on. It stuck in my throat and nearly choked
me. My friend laughed and looked both amused and ashamed. Reader, if you
have lived to maturity and never indulged in profanity, you can't imagine
how awkward it will be for you to turn out your first piece of swearing.
You can't do it justice. With no disposition to want to sermonize on the
matter I would say, don't begin. I have seen several women--or rather
females--who could beat me swearing all hollow.
Next, I thought I'd try smoking. In theory only I knew some of the
seductive effects of My Lady Nicotine. I would experience the reality. I
purchased a box of cigars, and in making my selection I depended mainly
upon the label on the box, as women do when they buy birthday cigars for
their husbands. When I got in seclusion I took out one and smoked about an
inch of it. Pretty soon things began going round and an eruption occurred
inside of me. Words are inadequate to describe how sick I became, so I
shall not make the attempt. It is needless to state that I at once
abandoned the idea of ever being able to extract any satisfaction from
tobacco fumes.
No more self-contamination for me, I thought. But soon after these events
another friend prevailed upon me to sample with him a most excellent brand
of champagne. The blood mounts to my cheeks in "maidenly" shame as I now
chronicle the occurrence. This friend said: "You don't know what a feeling
of exhilaration and well-being a little good champagne will give you. Try
it once; don't associate it with common alcoholic stimulants." Those last
words, well-meant but, to me, misleading, caused me to make a spectacle of
myself for a short period of time. While I partook of this fizzing
beverage lightly, the reader will understand how readily the stuff
affected my susceptible system and how quickly it went to my head. And
then it seemed to have staying qualities. The next morning I was crazier
than ever, but toward evening I crawled out on the lawn in a secluded
corner. The fresh air did me good, but for several hours I had to hold on
to the grass _to keep from dropping off the earth_.
Here I halted on my road to ruin. I resolved that between remaining a
neurasthenic who enjoyed the respect and esteem of a large circle of
friends, and becoming a depraved wretch, I would choose the former. I had
no ambition to become a sport or a rounder, but would continue the even
tenor of my former way and stick to those things in which I could indulge
without moral or mental reservations.
Now, whenever I see a bibulous man, it brings to my mind visions of that
one experience and how I was compelled to hold on for dear life to keep
from falling into space.